


Pressure Points

by dangerousbeans (flyingrat42)



Category: Watchmen
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingrat42/pseuds/dangerousbeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan's night is not going exactly as planned, but then again, it never does.  Shameless buddy fic, featuring mild historical geekery, fluff, and abuse of Eastern mysticism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Points

**April, 1968**

When he decided to take on the career of a masked adventurer, Dan Dreiberg had known there would be many surprises in store for him - that was part of the allure of donning the mantle of Nite Owl II, after all. But, Dan has to admit that his current situation - sitting on his own kitchen floor, being twisted into a remarkable semblance of a pretzel by the World's Smartest Man (tm) \- is something beyond the standard range of unexpected events.

"Gnh."

"Try to _relax_, Dan." Adrian's voice radiates command as he forces the heel of his left hand up and into Dan's left shoulder blade, his other purple-clad forearm locking Dan's right shoulder in place. _Relax. Hah. Easy for you to say, you probably do this every morning for fun, _ Dan almost retorts. Or, _I didn't know you were such a sadist_. But another abrupt shove drives the air from his lungs, so he settles for another muffled squeak instead.

At least he's getting an interesting sideways view of his fridge magnets. As spots dance before his eyes, Dan pauses for reflection. The night had started so _normally_...

* * *

  
Rorschach's off on his own, for once, tracking down some leads across the river. Dan had been half-inclined to stay home, out of the rain, finishing up some loose ends at his workbench...but when the call from Ozymandias crackles across his radio, he sets down the new goggles he's been tinkering with, fires up Archie, and blasts out into the blustery spring night.

Ozy, ever perceptive to such things, has intercepted a museum heist - an attempt on a new exhibit of Shang and Zhou-dynasty bronzes and jades at the Asia Society. After a quick conference, he and Nite Owl conceal themselves outside the loading dock the thieves have chosen as their exit. Crouching behind a Dumpster, Dan hears a "psst!" and glances over to his left, only to see Silk Spectre grinning back at him from behind a nearby hedge.

He grins back. This is shaping up to be a good night. As much as he enjoys working with Rorschach, it's nice to get out and about with some other masks on occasion; for one thing, it's good for him to see some techniques in action other than breaking fingers, and as a natural loner, he also finds it nice (he admits to himself) to have an excuse to socialize, if that's even a proper name for it.

Oh, what a bizarre life he leads.

Finally, the thieves emerge, wearing night-vision goggles and pushing several dollies loaded with small but heavy crates. Nite Owl waits until they've emerged from the dark loading bay...then, as arranged, he hits the button on Archie's remote control, triggering the flashers. The result is rewarding, the perps cringing back from the sudden brilliance. Silk Spectre dashes towards the waiting getaway truck, ready to disarm the driver, while Nite Owl and Ozymandias dart in to subdue the thieves. Even dazzled, some of them fight back admirably, but soon they're all restrained and groaning on the pavement.

Silk Spectre walks back towards them, twirling the truck keys on her finger, and jauntily waves at a surprised Ozymandias, who bows in response, a placid smile on his face. He then turns to Dan - and lunges forward, hand outstretched and pointing, mouth opening to shout a warning.

Dan tenses and pivots...only to see one of the crates, on top of a precarious pile, teetering ominously.  As it unbalances, he steps forward, lightning-quick, to cradle its fall, and lets out a _**whoof**_ as it lands in his extended arms. He staggers back under the surprisingly heavy load, and nearly overbalances as the sudden jarring causes the crate's abused latches to pop open with a *_snick_*. Lower back protesting, Dan rocks on his heels for a moment, finally steadying himself.

He glances downward into the now-open box, and his breath catches: nestled inside the padded foam interior is an exquisite bronze vessel in the recognizable shape of an owl. The other two masks come up beside him to peer inside as well.

([This is the owl.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ritual_wine_container_in_shape_of_owl,_Shang_Dynasty.jpg))

"Now _that_ is poetic justice." Silk Spectre claps him on one shoulder.

Ozymandias does the same with his other shoulder. "I agree. There are quite a few of the Shang zoomorphic bronzes in this exhibition, but this one is the real showpiece. On behalf of antiquarians everywhere, I salute you for saving it from damage." His smile quirks as he matches gesture to word.

Nite Owl grins back. He feels like a million bucks; _this_ is the sort of night he lives for, where the day is saved, the criminals apprehended, there's no unfortunate collateral damage (more of a certainly than a risk with Rorschach) and (he modestly admits) he comes out looking _good_. It's a shame it's not like this more often...

...Which is why, after the police and museum guards have (finally!) arrived to mop up the would-be thieves and repackage the precious antiquities, Dan spontaneously invites the other two back to the Owl's Nest for a celebratory drink, promising to drop them off in Archie later. He's surprised (but pleased) when they both accept.

_Yes, this is definitely a good night._

* * *

  
Dan strips off his goggles, cowl and globes, laying them on a table before climbing up his basement stairs. Emerging into the kitchen, he flips on the lights and hastily surveys the scene. _Good - no empty bean cans or sugar wrappers to clean up._ He turns to the other two. "What would you like? Beer, or something harder? I can always make coffee...and I promise you, my coffeemaker here is better than Archie's."

"A beer would be great, please, but, Dan," Laurie looks apologetic, "Would you mind terribly if I borrowed your shower first? I swear, there was something in that hedge that's making my hair itch. Ugh." She wrinkles her nose in frustration. "You two, please don't wait for me."

"No problem, go ahead! There should be plenty of towels in there, but give me a holler if you need anything." He listens to her muffled assent as she disappears upstairs, his gaze following her for a bit too long...then turns back to Adrian, who has seated himself regally at the kitchen table. "How about you? I do have some good scotch laid in, if you like."

Adrian waves a languid hand. "Actually, beer sounds marvelous right now."

Dan opens the fridge door and bends to retrieve two bottles of beer...at which point the twinge that he had noticed earlier leaps at the opportunity to evolve into a full-grown *sproing*. White-hot pain shoots up and down his left lower back, and he straightens, convulsively. _Oops, big mistake._ He bites off a strangled curse as all the neighboring muscles follow suit, locking in place, and reflexively slams his hand down on the top of the fridge door, causing the contents to rattle alarmingly.

"Dan?" He hears the chair scrape back abruptly as Adrian rises. "Are you alright?"

"Uh. I think I...just threw out my back. Actually, I think it started earlier, when I caught the crate." Dan feels his face begin to flush with embarrassment. _Some adventurer I am...taken down by my own fridge. So much for looking good; I'll never live this one down._ He leans forward infinitesimally, just enough to rest his forehead against the closed freezer door, and rocks a little: banging his head against the nearest wall seems as appropriate a response as anything else at this point.

Adrian's face materializes at his left, alight with helpful concern (albeit with an eyebrow raised at the thumping sounds Dan's forehead is producing). "It's certainly a hazard of our profession, isn't it? Especially when wrestling priceless artifacts. How bad is it - can you move at all?"

"I'm not sure. Let's just say that my foreseeable future involves a very hot date with my bed, a whole bottle of aspirin and a large ice pack."

Adrian's face disappears behind him again. "Ouch. Well, getting your armor out of the way would seem to be a reasonable first step." With some guidance from Dan, he flicks the catches, and soon Dan's free of the Owlsuit from the waist up.

Adrian pulls off his own gloves, tossing them on the table, then gently probes the muscle of Dan's back with his thumb, searching for the epicenter of pain. Dan guides him, voice punctuated by more muffled ejaculations of discomfort. _Great...it looks like I'm going to have to ask for help getting upstairs. Or maybe the couch is better. And I can't **wait** to hear what Rorschach is going to think about all of this._ He emits a particularly strangled noise as Adrian's fingers locate the offending spot. "OWW..._aaagghh_. That's it."

"Hmm." The probing thumb (blessedly) withdraws, and Adrian sounds speculative. "...Bed rest is one option, but I think I may be able to offer you an alternative remedy." His voice takes on an apologetic note. "The only thing is, it may be a bit uncomfortable..."

"As for discomfort, well, I'd say anything from here would be an improvement. Believe me, I'll take what I can get." Both his back and his pride are hurting enough that he's willing to try just about anything at this point.

"Well, then." It's the same brisk tone the great Ozymandias uses when he's hatching a particularly daring plan. "The first step is to get you seated cross-legged on the floor."

Dan sighs.

* * *

  
Had he known that there would be esoteric Indian torture methods involved, he might have declined Adrian's offer. As it is, Dan grits his teeth and waits for the agony to end. He's no stranger to the idea that the human body's pointier bits - elbows, knees, knuckles - can be used to disable opponents; he's experienced many such attempts firsthand, for heaven's sake. He's just not used to it being done quite so..._helpfully_.  

_What is this, some kind of Attack Yoga? ...Damn, did I just say that out loud?_

"That would be a gross oversimplification.  But actually, you're on the right track.  " Adrian sounds far too cheerful for someone who's inflicting so much pain. He's kneeling behind Dan, one costumed arm locked around Dan's midsection, the other an iron bar behind Dan's neck, forcing his head down towards the floor. "The same vital points that can be targeted in combat also have therapeutic potential. It all comes down to the manipulation of the flow of _qi_ along the body's meridians, if you subscribe to that sort of thing." The arm around Dan's stomach withdraws; Adrian traces one finger gently up along the left side of Dan's spine to illustrate his lecturing point, then stops at the base of Dan's neck and presses two knuckles in, _hard_. Dan yelps. "The legends say than a master practitioner can cure, or kill, with a single touch."

"I can almost believe it, now," Dan mutters. "Ninja Death Touch, Vulcan Nerve Pinch and all, too." _God, I'm such a nerd._ He rolls his eyes.

"Indeed. It's quite _logical_." Adrian's voice drops a few tones, and he extends one hand out in front of Dan's eyes, fingers separated in a "Live Long and Prosper" salute. Dan snorts; he can't help it. "Fortunately, the legends are usually exaggerated.  Besides, I'm not exactly a master practitioner; I've just picked up a few useful things along the way." That apologetic tone again.  _Ozy being humble?  Interesting.  Well, he can afford it, he already has me at a disadvantage. _ 

"_Now_ you tell me. Well, um, please try not to hit me with the Ninja Death Touch by accident." Dan groans as Adrian pulls his left arm over his back.  "_Ehnnk_."

Both he and Adrian freeze suddenly.  Adrian shakes his head as if clearing it.

"Alright, Dan." Briskly. "One more should do it. Are you ready?" Exhausted, Dan nods without thinking, thankful that at least the immediate pain will be over soon, and then he can get back to his ice pack and his aspirin.

Abruptly there's an arm locked around his shoulders, a knee digging into the base of his spine, and a hand planted in the very center of his back, just below the shoulderblades, forcing him forward and forward and _forward_. He feels his spine stretch, almost to the breaking point. Black spots dance before his eyes. He swears he can feel a ripple as something in his back - tendons, nerves, muscles - shifts and reorganizes itself. It's agony. He can't help it, he throws his head back (it lands solidly on Adrian's shoulder) and _screeches_ towards the ceiling, at the top of his lungs.

(In hindsight, he will admit, it was a damn good imitation of a West Peruvian Screech-Owl.)

The spots fade, a minute or a lifetime later, and he realizes that Adrian is shaking him gently.

"...Dan? Dan? Are you still with me? Good. I do apologize for the...intensity of that last bit. I've found from experience that a warning is generally insufficient. Can you sit up now?"

Dan mutters something like _gnbl_ and lets Adrian prop him upright. The supporting hands withdraw and he tenses, preparing for the inevitable twinge from his injured back, but it never comes.

"...Ah. Wha? Ooh. _Oh._ ...Wow." He twists, gingerly at first, then more vigorously. The pain is gone, as if it had never been. He rolls his shoulders...he feels better than he has in weeks.

Newly able, he looks over his shoulder and smiles at Adrian. "Adrian. Uh. That was...freaking amazing. I confess to some skepticism at first, but... Um. _Thank_ you."

Adrian smiles beatifically back at him. He's unruffled as ever, with the exception of a tuft of blond hair that's escaped the confines of his circlet.

A sound in the doorway makes them both look up.

Laurie stands in the doorway, hands up and legs braced in fighting stance - a bit incongruously, considering she's wrapped in Dan's dressing gown and has her hair up in a towel. Her eyes are blazing and she's breathing heavily as she looks from Dan to Adrian and back.

Three pairs of eyes blink at each other for a moment.

"Is everything...okay down here? It sounded like someone was being murdered." Laurie relaxes her stance, clutching the dressing gown to herself, but still peers at them suspiciously.

"Oh. Sorry. No worries, we're fine." Dan smiles brightly at her.

"Attack yoga," Adrian adds helpfully, his smile just as bright.

Laurie stares at them for a moment longer, then abruptly turns and vanishes from the kitchen doorway. Dan hears a muffled sound - a sort of giggle-snort - then the unmistakable sound of stifled, helpless laughter as footsteps retreat upstairs.

_Oh, what bizarre lives we lead._

Dan picks himself up, fluidly now, extends a hand to haul Adrian up as well, and goes to retrieve the long-awaited beer.

* * *

  
Early the next morning, Dan's slumped across the kitchen table, chin on folded arms, contemplating an assortment of empty beer bottles and a seriously depleted bottle of Glenlivet.

He smiles and shakes his head. He's not sure what normal is, now, anymore. But he's starting not to care.


End file.
